


Fifth Time's A Charm

by wildwordwomyn



Category: Kane (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Friendship, M/M, Mild Language, Non-Graphic Sex, Pre-Slash, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-09
Updated: 2010-10-09
Packaged: 2017-10-12 13:30:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/125381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildwordwomyn/pseuds/wildwordwomyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris likes to figure out things the hard way. Even things like his all-consuming desire for a certain musician.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fifth Time's A Charm

**Author's Note:**

> Not real. No own. No harm intended. But seriously, Google some of their performances together and tell me it's only in my imagination. I dare you!
> 
> Oh, and a "Five Times"-type story. My first. How'd I do?

The first time it happens he's already killed off a third of the bottle of Jack. Steve's playing and singing and for some reason he can't fathom he finds himself stalking closer and closer to the man. Hovering behind him. Hot as hell and sweating and yet when Steve throws his head back he doesn't act surprised in the least that Chris has a shoulder there to catch it. He just lets his over-heated neck rest there for a minute as he sings. Chris can feel his muscles tensing and releasing as he strums the guitar strings, can feel the strength in his body as he stands there on stage letting himself be wild and free. And Chris doesn't question it. Just quickly licks at the sweat rolling down the side of Steve's throat with his eyes closed and a pulsing ache deep in his gut. The fact that the blond permits it, that he literally shudders, should tell him everything he ever needed to know. But it doesn't. Not by a long shot.

 

The second time they're in Chicago at The House of Blues, rocking their hearts out. They're _on_ in a way that's magical, and Chris is flying high. There's a fifth of Jack in him now. The crowd is loud, clapping, stomping their feet, enjoying themselves. Chris feels good. Really good, and when he catches Steve's eye Steve is lit up by a bright white spotlight. He's playing his solo, watching Chris, grinning so big it looks like his lips are stretched beyond comfortable. He winks as the last note fades away, waiting eagerly for those few seconds of silence to pass before the drum cue kicks in. Chris stomps over to stand beside him. Once the music starts again he laughs and slaps Steve's ass hard _one two three times_ to the beat of the bridge. Steve laughs back and plays without hesitation, as if it's all part of the performance.

 

The third time he's only had a gulp of Jack. They're in goddamn Memphis, Tennessee and he's almost pissing himself with excitement. He's on stage in some small club that Elvis once sang in ( _fuckin'_ _Elvis!_ ) and they're on fire. This tour is kicking ass and taking names it's going so right. Steve is like some kind of rock angel with his California surfer looks and his soft hands and his haunting voice and Chris is all kinds of happy right here in this moment. With the band but mainly with Steve. Man, Steve. He doesn't even realize he's standing behind the man until Steve leans back against him like he knows he's there. He wraps an arm around his waist, pulling Steve back into his body, singing into his ear. Steve doesn't miss a beat. Chris hesitates though. Just long enough for the other man to notice.

 

The fourth time Chris kills a bottle of Jack by himself within an hour of being out there. He still sounds good but he knows he can't have any more or his voice will be wrecked for the rest of the night. He's done it hoping it'll help keep the impulse to touch Steve, to feel Steve, under control. The alcohol, however, is enhancing the need, not dampening it like he'd planned. There's a soft yellow light on the blond that should be washing his lighter complexion out. Instead it's causing this glow to surround him, making him radiate. And yeah, it's just a light, but it's also the man. Who he is, what he is. And Chris shouldn't be watching him so hungrily. He's never even looked at another man before. But somehow Steve has become _special_. He surrenders to wrapping an arm around his shoulders willingly. It's not like he has a choice anymore.

 

The fifth time he's completely sober. It's the first concert where he's ever performed in such a state. It's scary. It's also liberating. He's enjoying the whole experience. More than anything he's enjoying the give-and-take he shares on stage with Steve. His best friend. A kindred spirit. And Steve is obviously enjoying him. He's already hugged him three times and sung in his ear once. He's slapped his ass five times and licked his neck below his ear twice. The smile Steve wears while they play is intoxicating and sexy and all Chris can think about is how much he wants to kiss it off him. Which is why, after their encore, he pulls him into their dressing room for a 'private talk'. The sounds the other guys hear for the next 20 minutes tells more than they wanted to know about how Chris likes sex. And yet they don't put a stop to it. Especially when they hear two sets of voices yelling out the l- word during climax. They look around at each other and shrug, thinking, _“It's about time...”_

 


End file.
